The Eaton Democrat. (Eaton, Ohio) 1875-1903, 1887-01-27

inexcusable.
was examining these candlesticks
when a peasant girl came up to us, and
with many clumsy curtesies told NJ. lie
Cure that his supper had been served.
She had a motherly tone with the old
man. this girl of fifteen, and would
not hear of his showing me the vestry.
"That will be for another day." she
said. 1.-The important thing nowis that
M. lie Cure should not let that beautiful
trout get cold. One has opened bottle
of Chablis to drink with it, and there
will be an omelette aux fines herbes and
some peaches in the second service"
'She seems a very intelligent child"
I said, as 1 accompanied the Cure to
his door. ''Is she your %servant?"
20, no." he answered, with a smile.
THAT would not be allowed. My serv-
ant is i'll in bed, and this girl is taking
her place. But no, monsieur, lean not
let you go now. You must come in
and share my supper. Jeanette. lay
another cover"
81 did hat in advance" answered
the girl. when NJ. lie Cure has visit
ors-"
.'He insists ON their becoming his
guests. You are right, and monsieur
sees it."
The trout, perfectly cooked, was firm
and sweet; the Chablis, cool and fra
grant, with a faint scent of ~violets,
cleaned like livid gold in my glass;
the table was eSquisitely laid; the sill
yer, the plate of peaches, the yellow
rose laid on the white cloth, were very
beautiful to the eye; the Cure, with his
melodious voice full of caressing notes,
charmed my ear, as his anecdotes and
wit delighted my mind. But all these
delights were powerless to distract my
attention from the annoyance l had ex-
perienced. My calm was marred. !
barely listened to my host, yet gave
him enough attention to regret my pre-
occupation. At another time his con-
v~ersation would have charmed me, who
for now many months had heard only
the sordid bargainings of the Norman
peasants in their drawing and inhar-
monious patois. He had been speaking
about the Oxford revival, and had
quoted the Pope's remarks on the Pussy
ties, that like bedl-ringers they invited
the world to come into Holy Church,
but themselves did not enter it, when,
unable to contain myself any longer, l
rudely interrupted him, saying: .'But
why vulgarize her glorious p~assionP
Why make her sublime fear paltry and
ridiculousP One annoys the timidity Of
children with blood-stained rapiers,
skulls, or chromos of .Fox's Martyrs
They can not explain her terror. They
only insult her."
The Cure smiled, and seemed at once
to understand what it was 1 was refer
ring to.
'sYour are right, monsieur" he said,
sit is in bad taste. But it is Bette's
fault, not mine"
"Bette," he continued, sis my old
servant, the one who is lying ill up
stairs. She has been most faithful and
devoted to me ever since she came to
this place, now twenty years ago. ]
used to keep that rapier in my bed
room, but it was not long before she
found it out, and then she insisted on
hanging it where you saw it. The ar
rangement has always rather spoiled
my pleasure in the picture, and my rea-
son is the same as yours; but l could
not find it in my heart to thwart the
good old woman's wish. She would
have it thus, and would take no contra
diction on this point"
81 suppose" I rejoined, 1.-THE good
woman was vexed at the sight of the
girl frightened at nothing. The blood
stained sword would explain this feal
and make the tableau complete. 1t is
natural in a peasant woman. But
should have been better pleased with
Bette if she had completed it in an.
other way. For instance, if she had
hung opposite those terrified eyes q
picture of Delacroix or another classic.
That would have explained, and charm
ingly, the horror of q creation Of
Ms"
.You are severe on Delacroix,'
laughed the Cure. I'm my time hi
was to us what Meissonier is to yor
to-day"
sMay I ask, monsieur" I said, ''i
there is any connection between the
picture and the weapon?"
"a terrible one," said the Cure.
His tone was so sad and there wa
such a sorrowful expression on his fac'
as he answered me that 1 regretted m!
indiscretion and apologized to hin
for it.
at is strange" he continued, after
pause, .'that you should ask me this to
day, for all this day my thoughts hav'
been going back to the most terrible
scene of my life. Nay, do not ask m,
pardon. 1 am glad to speak to you o
it. Silence does not kill a sorrow; i
nurses It'll know it. For thirty year
I have never opened my mouth, and tn
wound in my heart has deepened al
the more. Never, be reserved il
the troubles of your life. Rather CT.
| them out aloud ON the house-tops
Does not a cry relieve a bodily suffer
ing? Then why should not the sam
relief be afforded in the same way to tn
tortures of consciencep Ask for symps
thy, human sympathy, and, whethe
you get it or not, the mere asking wi
| comfort you. ] will tell You about tina
rapier and that picture. My heart ha
been very full to-day"
Then, bending owe the table to mt
he said:
THAT picture is the portrait of til
only woman l have ever loved. and ths
rapier is the sword with which l kille
my dearest friend. The blood on il
point is the blood of the only heart {
man that ever beat in love and syn
pathy with mine"
"Ah," he continued, .'you look SUI
prised. One does not suppose any IT
nance can be shrined beneath the so,
tame of a village cure; and, perhaps,
LII AI,a a,,x laok -